


the world was a mess (but his hair was perfect)

by misura



Category: Boston Legal
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Community: dark_fest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-17
Updated: 2011-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Boston gets invaded by zombies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the world was a mess (but his hair was perfect)

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: _Denny Crane/Alan Shore, Boston is invaded by zombies. For once, Alan is glad Denny is packing heat._
> 
> credits for title go to _The Rakes_

(The undead are like a flood, and for a very brief moment, Alan is much more worried about drowning than he is about being torn to shreds or having his brains devoured or, worst of all, being bitten and turning up for work in a shabby, torn suit that doesn't flatter his figure _at all_.)

("I don't do farewell speeches," Denny says.)

("Excellent," Alan says. "I despise listening to them. They tend to either put me to sleep or make me want to excuse myself for a visit to the nearest bar. Or bathroom.")

 

"Zombies," Alan says.

Denny looks a little bleary, he thinks - the way most people would look when they really, desperately need that drink Denny's holding in his left hand.

"Zombies, everywhere." Alan strikes the dramatic pose, makes the broad dramatic gesture he can make without spilling his drink for the simple reason Denny has yet to pour him one. "They're in the streets, they're in the buildings. They're in our schools, they're in our prisons. Zombies."

Denny's smile is watery - too much tea, Alan judges, and not enough good liquor. It feels very pleasant to sit down, even if the view leaves something to be desired today. Specifically: another bottle or two of truly excellent hard liquor.

"Shall we talk about zombies?" Alan has had quite a few problems he felt confident were going to go away if he ignored them long enough. Nice, polite problems. Ex-girlfriends, some of them.

"There's this fishing lodge in British Columbia," Denny says.

Alan sips his drink. Waits. Realizes Denny isn't going to go anywhere with the fishing lodge.

"You still keep a gun in your office?" Given that zombies don't seem particularly bothered by being run over with a car, Alan doesn't think a gun will prove much more useful. Chainsaws, supposedly, work very well, but Alan is not Bruce Campbell and also there is the matter of getting goo all over his good suit. Alan knows his limits.

Denny reaches. "Never leave the office with it," he says. "You think they want to sue?"

"Who?" It's a nice gun, Alan thinks. Solid workmanship. Were he the kind of man given to buying guns, this would probably not be the kind of gun he would acquire.

"The zombies." Denny's tone makes it clear this should have been obvious.

Alan wonders what it would be like to go mad. "Why would they want to sue anyone?" Assuming there is anyone alive left to be sued. Horrible thought, that - Alan washes it away with another gulp of his drink, feels the warmth slide down his throat, down to his stomach.

"Why does anyone want to sue anyone?" Denny shrugs. "Clients."

"Quite." Alan likes most of his clients. Some fond memories there, certainly. "Well, allow me to put your mind at ease. I'm reasonably certain that while zombies are interested in a number of unpleasant things, suing us isn't one of them."

Denny strokes the barrel of his gun. Alan's body responds in an entirely inappropriate manner, given the circumstances. Survival instinct, perhaps, although quite how a sudden desire for a handjob is going to help preserve humanity in the face of a zombie attack is not entirely clear to him.

"Never liked them much," Denny says.

On the other hand, there are worse ways to spend the last few hours of one's life than having a drink and something good old Bill would probably not classify as 'sex'. "Clients?"

"All that moaning and shuffling. Stand up. Be a man. Or a woman. Good-looking."

Alan sips his drink and wonders how to go from 'good-looking women' to 'a handjob because we're going to die very soon'.

Denny puts down his glass and cradles his gun. For a brief, fleeting moment, he looks old. Alan blinks and misses the moment - or so he tells himself. Denny isn't so very old; years of life left in him. Decennia.

"Want to go down there?"

There's still some liquid left in Alan's glass. He watches the way it catches the sunlight when he swirls it. Another bottle would have been nice. "Do you?"

"Do you know who I am?" Denny rises. Alan thinks it would have made a good picture if the sun had been just behind him, provide Denny with a bit of a halo - brave, American hero about to rush into battle against the undead. A snapshot for the history books.

There's a smile tugging at Alan's lips. He thinks he has probably gone a little mad. Perfectly natural, under the circumstances. "Denny Crane."

"Damn straight."


End file.
